


What We May Be

by Spocksplum, To_Boldly_Go_Beyond



Category: Star Trek
Genre: 21st Century AU, M/M, and my health's a bitch so, buckle up lol, but it's gonna be a longer fic so, college just be shitty sometimes, this IS in fact still progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-01-09 13:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12277899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spocksplum/pseuds/Spocksplum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Boldly_Go_Beyond/pseuds/To_Boldly_Go_Beyond
Summary: In the 21st Century, Jim Kirk lives in Riverside, Iowa. Ready to leave college and explore the world, he can’t help but get the feeling something’s horribly wrong...without knowing why.For questions/comments about the writing: To_Boldly_Go_BeyondFor my fabulous beta reader: Spocksplum(Our tumblrs are also the same, except mine uses dashes in between the words instead. Enjoy!)





	1. Who In The World Am I?

What We May Be

 

Chapter 1: _Who In The World Am I?_

 

_Being an English major,_ Jim thought as he adjusted his satchel over his left arm, _was a little bit like dreaming._

He walked into his Classic Lit 410W classroom, looking for his usual seat in the back corner, and sat down. 

_Alright, so maybe it was a lot like dreaming,_  he reasoned with himself further, a secret smile spreading softly over his lips.

_But what was wrong with that?_

Jim knew life in Iowa was quiet. _Too_ quiet. Everyone dressed alike and thought alike and dreamed alike.The fields were virescent and wide, filled with crops each year, but ultimately empty. The houses had charming terra cotta roof work and gardens that looked overly quaint, to the point of being fake. The people, for the most part, were more like paper dolls than breathing creatures. They were rooted in order. Nuclear families built their lives here on properties as though Iowa was a monopoly board. They settled down, stopped rolling the dice, and cut themselves into carbon copy tokens of one another, folded out and extended indefinitely alike. It wasn’t that Jim _hated_ the people. If anything, it was just the opposite. He knew, if _they_ ever knew the things he thought, the things he felt…well, normal is more than relativity. In some cases normal becomes a cage, a label to keep out what we don’t understand, or to obliterate it entirely. 

_Just look what they did to Oscar Wilde, or the holocaust. Hell, turn on the evening news. That’s proof enough._ Jim thought with a shudder. But even then, his thoughts shifted. Like a dim light reflecting back on a cave wall, he knew this was a shadow of what humanity _could_ amount to. 

_One day, we’ll move beyond all this._ Jim thought. _After all, humanity does have it’s good points. Maybe one day we’ll understand different isn’t always synonymous with wrong. One day we’ll learn from every war we’ve fought. We’ll come out not only stronger, but kinder. We’ll be a planet of explorers, not murderers. At least…I hope so._

Jim knew he was being overly idealistic, but still, he didn’t let that dissuade him. Stuck in Riverside, there was little else to get him by. His days were juggled between college, a job at the local bookstore, and reading. It was all he could do for now. The weeks passed like newspaper pages, thin and flat as an outdated theory of Earth’s surface. The twenty first century fell open as a limp hand, defeated.

Jim turned a little in his seat. Through the window just to the right of him, he could see outside. The leaves were the color of rust. The sun shone, a tinny scrap of copper plating in the sky. The coldness crept through the bare spine of the trees and the world stood still as a shiver, the pause after a sigh. It was autumn and everything was clinging to it’s last shred of life.  

_2017, huh? This life is nothing but a work of science fiction._  Jim thought dourly. _Except there’s no aliens, no great new planets to explore, not even a single space ship to board on and just…fly away. It’s as bleak as Orwell suggested. And twice as lonely._

Jim sighed. He slung his satchel off his arm and put it down on the floor beside him. He opened the flap and took out weathered looking copies of _Dante’s Inferno, Romeo and Juliet,_ and _Alice In Wonderland._

The one thing Jim knew could never be boring, were books. Books were different. Save for the occasional ennui of a math textbook, Jim knew books possessed a splendor unique only to to themselves. In Wilde and Whitman, Rimbaud and Fitzgerald, dreams became the things of honeysuckle and lavender, sunsets and pearls. Words were the tides that washed iridescent over the muck and mire of the ordinary. Objects dull under this worlds daylight became better, shining anew between the pages. If the world could ever be as it was described in Jim’s books…he was sure it wouldn’t be _nearly_ as miserable as it was most of the time. 

He picked up _Alice In Wonderland_ and thumbed through it, ignoring the rest of the class as they piled in. As Jim read, he hummed a classical piece he often listened to while reading, and leaned back into his chair. He liked the feel of this books pages, rough and thick underneath his fingers. He liked the way it’s cover had lost it's glossy touch, but still showed the quirky illustrations of John Tenniel, full of vivid color as though it was just printed. He even found himself enjoying the curve of the ink on the pages, stylized just so the words sounded as whimsical as they read.

But then again, Jim _was_ biased. This was one of his favorites. 

He knew, one day, hard covers and paper backs would both become obsolete. Learning would be done predominantly by computers, but he didn’t care. If Jim lived in the twenty third or twenty fourth century, technology be damned. He’d build a whole bookshelf in his space aged apartment, just for his own pleasure. He would keep the books neat and well taken care of. He would marvel at their beauty, all different spines, lined up together; diversity at it’s finest. 

Jim had many favorite authors. Amongst them were Bradbury and Adams, Forster and Stevenson, and of course, H.G. Wells. One might argue they were his favorite because he enjoyed stories written in a different time about fantastical journeys. Still, not all his favorites were purely science fiction. Though he loved these kind of adventures as much as the next, what fascinated Jim the most was what was hidden underneath all of that. 

_Humanity. The struggles of humanity are what make them worth reading,_ Jim thought fondly. _A_ _nd of course, the strength of friendship._  

This is why, most of all, Jim loved Shakespeare.

He adored _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , wept for _Othello_ , and fell head over heels with Hamlet and Horatio’s trials through life together. He thought there was no better poetry than The Bard himself. There was no other way to put it; Shakespeare was _exciting_. From the gloomy merchants in Venice, to the jealous rage of murderers, and ghost hunting capers of bickering royal families...what more could someone want?

And _that_ was only the surface. Underneath, it was all about emotion. In Shakespeare’s work sorrow and ambition laid down their respective arms to fate. Hubris killed. Passion burned. The thin line between a comedy and a tragedy teetered only on a fragile second of time. 

_And of course, how could I forget love? Shakespeare orchestrates the trials of love as though it were all a song, a lament and a revery combined in one._ Jim thought just as his English professor walked into the room. As he sat down and began taking attendance, Jim looked up, briefly. He knew his names would be one of the first to be called, and readied himself each time.

_First he’ll call Adams, than Byron, then Carter, Cambell, Cassidy…_ Jim thought, counting the names as his teacher listed them off. 

“Kirk, Tiberius…oh, sorry! It’s James, I mean, _Jim_ , right?” The professor said with a flustered chuckle, always mistaking Jim’s first name with his middle one. 

“It’s alright. I’m here, Professor.” Professor Darlings (known to his students as Brian) was an intelligent man, a teacher at Iowa University for over twenty years, and one who talked about books with an equal fervor as Jim. The only difference was he did it outwardly, in a tweed suit, and with a smile that could convince a stranger off the street to listen to his lectures. 

_Such is the blessing of being an extrovert._  Jim thought.  _But he never quite remembers our names, so he reads off the roster every time. He’s a little scatter brained. Sure, he remembers details, important ones, but he always forgets the commonplace. Just last week he walked in, convinced he’d left his glasses at home when they’d been on his head the whole time! But hey, in a few years, I’ll probably be the same way. Maybe it’s just an English major thing._

Jim could forgive him. At least his lessons were interesting unlike the majority of his other classes. They might even boarder on enjoyable…if not for the rest of the class. People had been making fun of Jim’s middle name for so long, he’d forgotten it was still a funny thing about him, until he heard the snickers. He didn’t think Tiberius was _that_ bad. He didn’t think any name could be inherently bad. It was the idea of Westernization that was at fault; somehow all names had to sound like David and Smith to be acceptable. 

Besides, his classmates had other names for him. Names that made Tiberius pale in comparison. 

_Weirdo, fag_ , and _space cadet,_ were amongst some of their commonly chosen insults.

Most of the time, the other students didn’t talk to Jim. He learned, if he kept to himself, people would lose interest in insulting him. Sure, they still muttered slurs occasionally under their breath, only remembering Jim when they got bored. But this was college after all, not high school. And after _that_ whole ordeal, Jim was determined to have a little more peace and quiet, and a few less black eyes as he turned twenty two in March. After so many years of wanting friends, it seemed all these past few years could afford to teach Jim was how to master the art of disappearing, instead. 

_On the bright side, gone are the days of being locked in a closet, tackled to the ground, or being beat up for whatever reason people can make up._ Jim thought wearily. _At_  least… _at school._

For the rest of the class Jim just listened in on the lecture, taking notes here and there, flipping through his books. He was happy to multi-task. Today Brian was talking about _Romeo and Juliet._ Though not his favorite, Jim was still happy the professor had selected a work by Shakespeare this semester, none the less. 

Reading Shakespeare was like dipping your hand into a silver pool of water at night and skimming along the surface. There was a certain kind of magic to it, the same that only existed in moonlight, or fairy dust. Even his plays were intertwined with poetic language, and it wrapped around Jim’s mind in tendrils of gauzy light. When he was alone in his room, Jim would dare to whisper some of the passages, reading their rhythms out loud. He tried to get the pauses and the emphasis _just_ right as he read along, feeling them curl pleasantly on his tongue. He knew, some words were meant to be loved physically.

Some words were meant to be said out loud. 

“Now remember class, for next week I want you all to read Act One, scenes 3, 4, _and_ 5\. Pick a character and write how you think the events in these scenes effect them. Of course, there’s no wrong answers, so have some fun with it…” The professor said as he closed his book. The rest of the class began to put their things away as well. 

“…but also remember to be careful. You aren't in Wonderland." He said with a grin. "Don’t let your imaginations run away with you and drag you down a rabbit hole so spectacular you can’t write yourself out of it!”

Then he got up and opened the door, and only stopping in the doorway to add a cheerful goodbye.

“Oh, and go take a walk or something. Go sit outside with a good book, forget some of the stuff you’ve learned for a bit. You’re all young, _enjoy_ your weekend!” 

_Well, at least there’s more time to read_ , Jim thought as he gently placed his books into his satchel and walked out of the classroom. He knew he would have to get up for early for work on Saturday and Sunday, but for the rest of the night, he would have time to just relax. 

_Relax._ Jim turned the word over in his head. 

 Jim also knew, relaxing was somewhat of a Catch-22. Home wasn’t a place to relax, not even remotely. Home was a place he had to tread on careful ground, or else it would collapse entirely. Like always, he would have to find an alternative. He would find a quiet place on the campus’ grounds to sit and read until it was nearing night. He had forgotten to eat lunch again. The morning always made him feel queasy, so he would usually eat after his last class and just count it as his dinner. There was no point in eating at home. There was no point in making an attempt at it anymore. Before it got dark he would take his bike back from the campus, go to his room, and try to sleep.

In a way, Jim’s Friday afternoons were usually like this. Save for the few times he had to meet with an advisor or switch shifts with another volunteer at the school’s library, this was nothing out of the ordinary for him.

_Or hang out with George,_ Jim thought, rubbing his temples as he walked around the campus.  _But George was smart, he got out of this hell. He’s gone for good now._  

A few minutes later, Jim finally settled on a removed patch of grass on the far side of the university, more near the woods than anything else. There at Jim’s feet grew wildflowers in pale shadows of yellow, blue, and lilac. The sun dipped over one of the rolling hills and Jim sat back against the bark of a sturdy tree with maple colored leaves. He buttoned the top of his burgundy flannel and pulled the sleeves of his beige coat down even further. He wished he had brought a scarf or gloves along with him as the day drew closer to evening, but neglected to find either this morning. He shivered, lying down under the base of the tree, and took out his books. 

He closed his satchel, propping it under his head for comfort as he began to read. In the distance, the thrum of insects sounded like strings being plucked lazily, fading just out of ears reach each time Jim tried to listen. The sunlight fell disjointed through the leaves, scattered through the ones that were still left on the half dead tree Jim was under. Though the sun provided little warmth, it’s light, hazy and bronze, reflected on the pages pleasantly. 

_Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle._ Jim read from his copy of _Alice In Wonderland._ Carroll was right about that one. Maybe, like the curious anecdote about the raven and the writing desk, he had also answered his own question in another passage.  When the Cheshire Cat had asked Alice where she was going at the very beginning, she had said she didn’t care so long as she got somewhere. 

_“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat._

_“-so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation._

_“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if only you walk long enough.”_

It was like that for Jim too. He knew he had a passion for books, and somewhere underneath the dust of Iowa, an inclination for dramatics. Maybe that meant he would be good with working with other people, working with them to make things happen.

_Maybe,_ he thought. 

He knew college would come to an end soon. He would save up enough money to go somewhere, but he wasn’t sure where. 

_Anywhere,_ he had told himself time and time again, _anywhere else but here._

But could he walk long enough? That was the real question. Could he survive this last year before throwing himself, blindly, into the grey expanse of the world in front of him? Friendless and shy, he was better suited for living off in the woods somewhere, a Tolkien Hobbit, than taking to the stage, or traveling the world.

Hours later, after Jim fell into bed in the same position, exhausted after the ride home, he asked himself the same question.  

_Who in the world am I?_ Jim thought after sneaking in past his Uncle Frank, who was asleep in one of the back bedrooms.

His mother had been away on business for the week, and would likely be for the better part of the month with her job. He thought about who he was outside of his books. He thought less of his taste in music and drama, and more on the physicality of the notion. His days were all like this; work and school. The absence of a life dragged them along, instead of binding them into something whole. Two months into the year, and all Jim could come up with for an adjective for how it was going so far was abysmal.

Jim felt trapped. 

_Maybe then, Carroll got it wrong._ Jim thought, burrowing his head further under the patchwork quilt on his bed. _Maybe our problem doesn’t lie in who we are, but who we want to be._

Lately, this feeling had been creeping up on Jim more and more often. Each time he pushed it down, it came back twice as strong, and persistent as bile. 

_Something’s wrong here. I feel like I’m dying, I…I want so much more than I can ever have…_

Jim’s thoughts trailed off as his emotions got the best of him. He felt as though there were parts of him missing without knowing how or why.  He longed for adventure. He longed for it in a way that suggested madness. He wanted the worlds he read about to come alive. He wanted to rip the pages out and crawl inside the books he loved, just so he could taste the sky that he was truly  meant to live under.

_Give me a chance at the stars. Nebulas and astroids, and a thousand golden suns wrapped around the rings of a world unknown._

Jim's heart longed for such a life.

_Planets burning and freezing, blooming and falling apart in a menagerie of wonder. If only I could…I’d be an explorer. I’d travel to help people, to make new discoveries. I’d live in the breaking of dawn, the blossom of a moment._

_And somewhere along the way,_ Jim thought as he closed his eyes _, I might just find my place in all of that, too._

At times like this, Jim knew what he hoped for was impossible. Still, he yearned for it all the same. 

_Like Mansfield and his Sea Fever._  Jim remembered suddenly, recalling one of his favorite poems about life on the ocean. _Maybe I just have Star Fever instead_. 

He turned on his side, burying his head under his pillow now, eyes still closed. He became aware of the closeness of the room, how small it was. It made him feel as though the whole state of Iowa was ready to collapse on top of him.

_Star fever. God, what would anyone else say if they heard you talk like that? If they also knew…_ Jim thought, feeling a pang in his chest that had to do with longing, but another type entirely.

_Maybe all this means is… I’m sick. Real sick._

Jim knew adventure was only half of what he longed for. At three in the morning his mind wandered past thoughts of adventure and towards relations, or lack of them in his life. He knew as small as Riverside was, the people he could talk made up an even smaller percentage of the population. He often felt as though his heart was… _there;_ not really existing, just functioning.

But underneath that feeling he _knew_ there was the capacity to love someone. Deep under the rubble, lay a connection luminous and strong as a moonbeam cutting through the murky depths of a blue night. It scared Jim. It scared him to know he could feel so much. And after all he’d been through, maybe it was _too_ much. 

_Besides, what if they ever knew, knew that I thought, I mean, I could certainly love someone who was_ …Jim began to think, but cut himself off as he felt the familiar sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. He sniffed once, and took a breath before pulling the quilt over himself tighter, cocooning under it entirely to effectively shut this world out. 

_Enough. This is no way to live._  Jim thought, not bothering to brush his tears away as they fell onto his cheeks. _Time to think of something else, anything else._

And Jim knew what he would think of. With a weary hand pressed over his face, he waited for sleep. He counted down, slowly, pulling charcoal drawings sketched out from the pages of his own mind to the surface of his thoughts. He breathed in, forgetting the cold, the sound of bottles clinking open in the kitchen, and the smallness of his room.

Before his eyes darkness passed like a tunnel, and then he plunged himself into something else entirely.

Jim also pondered Carroll’s question because he had another answer. He was useless. His real talent didn’t lie in diplomacy, dramatics, or even reading. Jim knew, despite everything, he would never find his place in this world. And though he knew logic would tell him that’s just the melodrama of youth talking, something inside of him shattered each time he thought of it; bursting crimson and pouring out heavy as sand from an hourglass over his lungs.

_I don’t belong here._  Jim thought as he reached further inside his own head, the soft hues of grey and mauve, turning bolder. Molding at his will, they became chrome and indigo, forming clearer in his minds eye than his own room. Emerging into the blur of colors, he began to recognize the familiar forms that he had scribbled in the margins of his notebooks ever since he could remember.

_I’m a stranger in my own world._  He thought. _Lost, truly lost. Maybe…maybe that’s just how it is for some people. After all, not every person belongs somewhere. I don’t think I belong anywhere at all._

Then Jim sank back, entering a realm where Iowa blew away as nothing more than a handful of grain. Jim felt as though he was being pulled underwater, and he let the feeling wash over him until there was nothing else. Falling asleep, he did what he knew he did best, the only thing he truly believed he could do without screwing it up entirely. 

And then, Jim dreamed. 

 


	2. A Dream Within A Dream

 

Jim’s dreams could only be described in one word; _extraordinary_.

Worlds away he floated between lightening strikes and limbo, nebulas and neon crackling night skies. Constellations sprawled, endless in their dazzling pathway to nearby planets. Jim could see the expanse of soft rings, and the rising color of brazen suns that belonged to anywhere else but Earth. Plum and thistle and emerald, Jim wanted to reach his hand out and brush his fingers along the swimming stretch of color that streaked past the windows. Out here, Jim’s world was suddenly wide. And in it’s broadening, it became beautiful. 

“Of course, warp speed eight it is.” Jim could hear himself say authoritatively. 

_Why would I ever be giving people directions?_ Jim thought, a little amazed, as he patted another officer on the shoulder. He sat down in a sleek, white, chair. It’s arms were lined with crystal-like buttons. Jim sank into it’s plush cushion and smiled. Even if he didn’t know where he was, he knew where he was headed. 

_No, not just me. Where we’re headed_. Jim thought, correcting himself without knowing why. _In this dream, I’m a captain of a space ship. I’ve got a whole crew to explore the galaxy with, right by my side._

On the bridge he helped his crew, plotting courses and diplomatically making decisions, gliding with ease from one planet to another. Together, they passed Neptune and Jupiter, and a millions minor planets that were more mesmerizing than anything in THIS solar system alone.  

The ship turned and steered closeR to a nearby planet's surface. The planet was made of  umber and ochre, swirled together in a sandy mist. Dunes on the planets surface could be seen from the ships screen, peaking between vast planes of burnt orange. There were statues and towering spire-topped buildings, forming elegant cities. While appearing to borrow from ancient times, the planet’s surface also had a futuristic sense of regality to it that made Jim shiver in awe. 

 He remembered walking along it's dust covered paths once, a warm breeze gently touching his face. He remembered conversations, long and quiet, and the feeling of being content as he turned a corner, entering one of the buildings from the ground below. 

He also remembered holding someones hand.

“Is it alright to beam down ahead of schedule, Captain?" said a voice to Jim’s left, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“No trouble at all, in fact, let’s make a day of it.” Jim heard himself saying warmly. 

That was the thing in Jim's dreams. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he _felt_ as though he was really there, he still remained passive. If he were to ask why he were here or how, he wouldn’t be able to. _This_ Jim was in control. This Jim who lived in a fantastic dream.

  _Maybe it's worth another try now,_ Jim thought, as he watched himself walk around the bridge of this ship. _The man at the helm seemed cordial in his replies, and genuinely friendly in his mannerisms, so why not?_

 Mustering up all his focus to break the fourth wall and ask, Jim began to speak, but as tried...he was interrupted.

Suddenly, Jim’s dream shifted. 

Though disappointed in his lost opportunity, he was partially glad. This time his dream changed to a more intimate setting than the bridge. 

Jim _did_ love the part of his dreams where he was flying through the marvels of the universe, surrounded by a loyal crew, fearlessly leading them into he great unknown. But he also knew this wasn’t his favorite part. True, he didn’t think he would ever get used to the feeling of seeing out those windows, or being on that bridge, either. The very sight of it all knocked the wind straight out of him and almost woke him up each time.

_Almost_.  

But this, _this_ feeling was softer. This wasn’t a punch in the gut. This was slowly sipping kerosene from a square glass, and then, very politely, asking someone to hold a match to your lips. This was swallowing flames and reveling in your own consumption. The room swam in a thick blue light, and although it was hard to see around him, Jim could _feel_ the room. 

Jim could feel someone else’s presence. He knew he was not alone. 

_You again, huh?_  Jim thought as he lie in his bedroom quarters, his head on the lap of another person _._  

“ _Ashayam_ , you look worried. What is the matter?” The voice asked, deep and smooth. It wasn’t overly wrought with emotion, but there was something undeniably tender about it. Jim smiled as he burrowed his head into the other man’s neck. A firm hand cupped Jim’s cheek and raised his chin. 

“It’s nothing, I’m just…I’ve missed you so much.” He confessed, surprised at the distraught sound of his own voice. 

“I assure you, my time away was equally as unpleasant without you by my side.” The other man said. He looked down at Jim, and Jim’s head felt as though it had collided with one of the planets outside the ships window.

In his mind, Jim swore he heard that same voice whisper soothingly _I know, Ashayam, I know. I loathe us being apart as well._

_Ashayam, what a peculiar word…_ Jim thought as the man began to card his other hand through Jim’s hair. _And yet, when he says it…it doesn’t sound funny at all._

“Unpleasant? Is that all?” Jim heard himself say wryly, a lighter edge to his voice than before. 

“Would you like me to say torturous?” The man inquired, raising an eyebrow, a trace of a smile lit up on his face.

Jim could tell though, somewhere underneath that small gesture, he was grinning.

“Because there certainly were times when…”

“No no, I understand completely. I just meant I’d like nothing more than this.” Jim said, reaching up to nuzzle against the other man’s cheek, pressing his nose along his jaw. “Right here.”

“I…you do know with our bond now, I will _always_ hear you…” The other man tried to reassure him, reaching his hand away from Jim’s face and placing it against Jim’s other hand. 

Automatically, Jim mirrored the man's actions and pressed two fingers to his. 

“I know, I know.” Jim heard himself saying softly, almost reverently, voice thick with emotion. “But this…”

“…this simple feeling…” The other man murmured, leaning down so close now that his nose was pressed against Jim’s.

“Yes. This is what I missed the most.” Jim breathed out, and in his next breath, he was kissing the man.

His body grew warmer as he felt the man’s lips press against his insistently. Jim sighed into the kiss. His hands caressed the other mans back, curling over his slender shoulders, and around the nape of his neck. Jim felt the light in the room grow stronger, a deeper blue, as he closed his eyes. 

_The blue light always surrounds him._ Jim thought.  _No where else in my dreams, only him… if I could just reach a little further…if I could only ask him what the hell is going on._

He pressed in closer to the man. His mouth parted, only yielding to open further when he began to bite on Jim's lip.

_Not that I exactly mind this part..._

He licked his way into Jim’s mouth, a hand gently pushing his bangs away. Jim gasped. 

_..oh no, not at all…_

But as Jim tried, almost murmuring a name, the light began to glow dimmer. Jim suddenly felt the absence of the other man’s slender frame beneath him, and the loss of contact made Jim shiver. Gone was the room as well. Only the light remained, growing more distant by the second and Jim felt himself falling. Past cerulean, through indigo, and down into the abyss of darkness below. All the physicality of this world was pushed out through a trap door, and down it Jim fell. 

_Maybe Gatsby had the right idea after all._ Jim thought as he blindly felt for nothing, only the sensation of down closing around him like a fist.

All the color in his dreams drained to black, and Jim continued to fall through an endless tunnel, unseeing.

_Maybe the most extraordinary things we wish for, are the ones just out of reach._

 


	3. A Town Isn't A Town Without A Bookstore

On Saturday Jim woke up to the sound of bottles breaking. 

 _Well, it can’t be dreams all the time now, can it?_ Jim thought as he stretched, throwing the covers off of his bed, and hastily getting ready for work. 

The light filtering through Jim’s window didn’t bother him, he was used to getting up this early. He put on another t-shirt, a flannel, and the same beige coat. He raised an eyebrow, looking around his room for a minute, and decided against wasting time looking for a hat or scarf again. He grabbed his satchel and haphazardly ran a comb through his hair. Opening his window, he climbed out and closed it behind him. Against the side of the house, he retrieved his motorbike from the night before and drove to the bookstore. 

Down the road, Jim watched as everything passed by him. The motor hummed, as he passed by the rows of neatly separated houses.

 _It’s all a blur, just like flying through space_. Jim thought, still a little drowsy from sleep. 

 His bike was a pale yellow, almost gold, if the paint hadn’t been so worn away.

_But this is all George could afford. And this is all he left behind, so it’s mine now. Even if I wish he didn’t._

The wind rushed passed him, chilly as the day before. The trees looked sparse, stray leaves littering the gutters in heaps. The piles of leaves were clumps of muted red and orange, brown clinging to their colors, curling their frames together into one big pile of decay. Jim made a few quick turns and finally pulled into the parking lot of the Bookstore.  

_It’s still a good way to get to work, efficient, even if the reminder hits too close to the bone._

Outside, the sign read _Bantam Books; Where A Good Book Is Just The Turn Of A Page Away._

Jim parked his bike, and walked in. It was early, and the store was relatively small, so he would probably be the only one in today, save for his usual partner in employment. As Jim opened the doors of the bookstore, he smiled.

_Borges always did say he imagined paradise would be a kind of a library. Well, who am I to argue with that?_

Jim walked up and the down the rows of oakwood cases, dust thickly layered on top of the shelves. The books were kept second hand mostly, bound by maroon and tanned leather covers. They spilled over the edges of the shelves, inviting the customers to pull one out and read. Jim flicked the lights in the store on as he walked, pushing a few of the heavier anthologies back so they wouldn’t fall on the feet of unsuspecting customers. He turned, reaching for the last light in the back where there were a few chairs to read, and then returned to his post at the cash register. He took out a stack of books they had just gotten in and began to sort through them when the first customer came in.

“Hello, welcome to Bantam, how may I help you?” He said.

The old man smiled, and tipped his hat. He looked as though he should be sitting on a porch somewhere reading a newspaper, perhaps tending to chickens.

 _In Iowa,_ Jim thought, _that’s a more apt description than most people think._

“Oh I’m just looking for a good thriller or mystery novel.” The man said politely, running a hand through his grey hair. 

“Have you read Doyle?” Jim ask. 

“Yes, an old favorite.” He answered.

“Christie?”

“Of course.”

Jim tapped his chin and smiled at the man. 

“Patricia Highsmith?”

The man paused. 

_Bingo._

“No…I can’t say I have. Can you recommend me something, then?”

“The third isle, take a left, and try Tom Ripley. He’s _quite_ a dashing fellow.” Jim said, with a flourish of his hand.

The rest of the morning continued in such a manner. Jim directed sweet little old ladies delving into romance novels and high school students groaning about the mandatory reading list alike to their designated books. He pre-ordered a few copies of the latest fantasy novels for die hard Potter fans, and scoured eBay to help a woman track down a particularly hard to find sequel to a murder mystery she had purchased a few weeks before. 

The morning flew by, and Jim was content. 

Between shelving and making small talk over books, Jim began to feel the tension that had built up over the week in his shoulders, start to ease. 

Around mid-afternoon, the other young man who helped him with the shift came in.

“Sorry Jim, traffic was hell, even _worse_ than Russia in the snow.” The boy chirped in a thick accent, a bounce to his step as he entered. 

His hair stuck up a little from the wind, and he quickly smoothed it over. He was an exchange student that had recently moved to Iowa, and Jim thought he was one of the nicest people he’d ever met. If anything, Iowa didn’t deserve someone so friendly. 

“Chekov, you know I don’t mind.” Jim said, pulling him in for a quick hug. 

 “Besides, we only have like, one highway that leads here. Traffic must be a bastard.”

Chekov nodded in agreement, and began to help Jim sort through the stack of books at the counter. 

They talked about the usual, what books they were currently reading, what music they had listened to, and how their classes were going. Chekov told Jim he liked his chemistry class, but besides that it was a pretty boring year. Jim agreed, besides English, he could barely stay awake in some of his other classes. 

“But Chekov.” Jim said, stopping him for a second. “Your favorite science isn’t anywhere’s near chemistry. Is it the teacher, do you get to blow cool stuff up at least?”

“Not exactly, Jim.” Chekov said, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

Jim gasped.“I knew it!”

Chekov shook his head, laughing. 

“ _Ohmygod_. So who is he?” Jim asked, leaning his head on his hands, waiting impatiently for the answer.

If there was one other person Jim confided in about crushes, it was Chekov. Cultural differences aside, both having a thing for boys brought them together pretty quickly. That, and their love for old books. The first day Chekov had come to Riverside he had sought out a bookstore. Jim thought that was reason enough to try and befriend him.

“He’s _really_ into botany. And he’s also quite beautiful. That…that is all.” Chekov stammered. 

“Nice. Very Little Shop Of Horrors.” 

Chekov rolled his eyes. 

“ _No_. There’s no satanic dentist anywhere. His names Hikaru. Well, most everyone just called him Sulu.”

“Same as you with the last name thing, then?” Jim said, as he gathered up the books they had on the counter, and placed them back under to be shelved for the next day. 

“Yeah, says it’s shorter.” Chekov said. “Besides, I hate when the teachers call me Pavel. They say it funny, it sounds prettier in Russia.”

“Great, now just tell him how you feel before the whole town is swallowed by a singing plant!”

“ _Jim.”_ Chekov pursed his lips, a hand on his hip. “ _Really_?”

“Hey, stranger things can happen.” Jim said, getting up and dusting the top of the desk off with his hand from where the books were stacked.

“All I’m saying is, you should talk to him.”

“I will. I mean, I feel like such an…an idiot when I do. But I do. I mostly talk about my time in Russia, and I think he actually enjoys it.”

“Good.” Jim said with a grin. “I can’t wait till you bring him around and show him the store!”

Chekov sighed.

“We’ll see.” He said, as he glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to go do inventory in the back of the store. You alright with the customers for a while?”

“You know I love talking their ears off. Now get on with your shelving, and stop daydreaming about your flower boy!” Jim said jokingly. 

He turned his attention to the computer, and checked through the stores inventory for the third time today, making sure they had everything they needed. 

“Aye aye, sir.” Chekov said with a mock salute and as he giggled, carrying the stack of books backwards down the isle. 

Jim waved him off, laughing, and then got back to work. 

The rest of the afternoon and night passed in a similar manner. Both of them took turns helping the customers on the floor or manning the register. When there was a lull they would sit and talk, making up ridiculous plots to the titles of the more mundane books, or reading one of the poorer written books off the shelf in affected voices. It was only a quarter to ten, around closing time, when something different had happened. Chekov was helping a group of women that ran the local knitting club select books for the week. As he helped them select their books, he pointed out the Russian authors excitedly, handing them stacks of books at a time. Jim was just leaning on the counter, looking over his copy of _Alice In Wonderland_ when the shop bell ringed. 

 _I should tell them we’re closed._ Jim started to think, but he knew himself better. 

_I could never turn anyone away looking for a book.No matter how late it is._

A boy walked in, about the same age as Jim. He was tall, slim, and had a pensive expression on his face. He wore a grey button down, brown slacks, and a navy blue beanie that matched well with his olive colored coat. His eyes were dark, and if not for his hands in his pockets that indicated nervousness, Jim would have called him downright brooding. 

 _Well, damn._ Jim thought. 

“May I, uh, help you?” Jim asked, trying to pull himself together. 

“I’m looking for Romeo and Juliet.” The boy said quietly. His voice was deep, and smooth as a well written sonnet.

 Jim swallowed. 

 _Aren’t we all looking for that?_ He thought drily.

“It’s for my class I’m taking this semester.” The boy added. 

Jim managed to respond, but barely.

“Oh. Well, are you going to my- I mean, are you going to Iowa Uni?” 

The boy pursed his lips thoughtfully. 

“Yes, I am. I only transferred here this week, actually. I’m in English 410W.”

“That’s…that’s wonderful.” Jim stammered. 

Jim watched as the boy looked at him, carefully.

_Is he studying me?_

 Jim felt as though his mannerisms were being observed. Not in a cruel manner, just a very clinical one. 

“Your excitement is illogical, but I take your regards very kindly.” The boy said with a nod of his head. 

“It’s…you know what, I have a copy right here.” Jim said as he reached down into his book bag.

“Don’t worry about it. You can give it back whenever.”

Jim knew they would have the same class, and really what was the point in buying a book when he could just lend it to him?

“Oh. I…thank you.” The boy paused as if to ask Jim something more. He looked down at where Jim had taken his copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ out, his eyes narrowing in. 

“Is that Alice In Wonderland?”

Jim smiled. More than he’d like to admit, he felt himself blush too. 

“Yeah, I was just rereading it. Store’s kind of slow at this hour, you know?”

The boy looked at Jim, really looked at him this time. He didn’t just observe. 

His eyes met Jim’s and Jim had to look down before he uttered something ridiculous. 

“It’s one of my favorites.” The boy said. He didn’t smile, but his voice softened considerably. 

Jim tried to say something in response, _anything_ to keep him talking. 

“It’s not very logical a story, though, is it?” Jim replied, picking up on the boys unusual word choice from before. 

The boy gave what Jim could _almost_  be considered a shrug. 

“No, but it was a favorite from childhood.” He stated factually. 

Jim nodded encouragingly, daring to look up at him as he continued.

“My mother would read it to me and my sister. Besides, Carroll instills a love of the curious and dissuades the idea that all truth is strictly linear. Normal is relative, and not all answers can be boxed in so neatly.”

Jim eyes widened. 

 _Oh_. _That’s a…refreshing take on it._

“I…I agree.” Jim breathed out. He handed the Shakespeare book to the boy. He realized how impolite he must look, gaping at him like a hooked fish.  

“Have a good night.” Jim said earnestly. “Enjoy your reading.”

The boy thanked him, taking the book carefully, and folded it into the inside of his coat. Before he left he tugged his hat down firmly, and then walked outside without looking back. Jim watched as he left, still reeling from the interaction. 

 _What an interesting stranger…_ Jim thought as he collected himself from his own thoughts. 

He turned, and saw Chekov standing at the front of the isle, giving him a mischievous look.

“Oh, so I see you’ve met S’chn T’gai.” He said.

“Who?” Jim asked as he reached behind him to closed up his satchel.  Then he reopened his book, but shook his head. Any other focus but the previous customer would be futile at this point. 

Chekov walked behind the counter fixing Jim with a knowing look.  

“We call him Spock. But something tells me you’d like to call him tall, dark, and handsome, yes?”

Jim punched Chekov lightly in the arm.

“Ow! And just so you know he’s in my chemistry class too.”

Jim laughed a little, no doubt blushing again.

“Wow, transfer students sure do get to know each other fast.”

Chekov shrugged.

“He must have skipped English on Friday.”

Jim mediated on that. 

_Yes. How could he not have noticed S’chn…Spock, right. How could he have missed Spock? There had to be a reason for his absence on Friday._

“Or he wasn’t assigned it yet.”

Chekov smiled.

“He’s not an English major like you Jim, not everyone can be so devoted to old dead poets.”

Jim laughed. 

“You work in a bookstore too you know!”

Chekov rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, but I don't worship it the way you do.”

They paused, catching their breathes, then Chekov gave Jim a smirk. Jim relented, breaking the silence first.

“So Spock, huh? What a nice name.” Jim said innocently. 

Chekov nudged him in the arm with his elbow. This time, Jim _knew_ he was blushing. 

“Oh Jim, I see we have a competition now for who will get eaten by a giant plant first.” 

Jim burst out laughing again. He didn’t know how many giant plants he could conjure using grammar and diction alone, but then again, this week was only beginning. 

“I think you might be right about that one.” He said. He abandoning Alice, putting the book back in his satchel, all thoughts of reading leaving his head. 

“I think you might just have a point.”

After closing up the store together and saying goodbye, Jim drove home. That night Jim went back to his room, thoughts of Spock still lingering in his head. He did his homework, did some reading, and hurried the night away.  As he slept, he dreamt again. This time Jim was on the same space ship, but orbiting a deep purple planet, with hundreds of shimmering gold rings. Jim remembered giving navigation coordinates, and calling down to the engines to check that they had enough power to transport. This time Jim dreamt of a man with a deep voice and lips like stardust. When Jim woke up, he vaguely remembered flying through space. He shook his head, running a hand through his sleep disheveled hair and sighed. 

He was _much_ more concerned with going to work again on Sunday. The entire day he kept glancing at the door as though the boy with the dark blue beanie might just miraculously show up again to discuss _Alice In Wonderland_.

Chekov noticed. He gave Jim an encouraging pat on the arm as they passed one another, stacks of books needing to be shelved for the coming week. 

“Don’t worry Jim, I’m sure you’ll see him Monday. I might even throw in a good word on your behalf.”

Jim blushed, and rolled his eyes. He felt silly for being so preoccupied, but couldn’t help it.

“I guess we will. You too though, alright? Keep me updated on your foliage inclined friend.”

Jim pretended to swoon.

“Who knows, maybe he’ll even bring you a bouquet.”

Chekov grinned, but his voice was quiet, almost wishful.

“Perhaps Arnica and Crocus’, just as pretty as they are back in Russia.”

Jim nodded. He knew Chekov missed Russia. He thought maybe they were both missing things they didn't talk about as often as they should have. Jim thought about Spock again. He wondered if he missed wherever he was from too. He could never imagine the serious boy who had come in last night giving _him_ flowers. No, that would be too extroverted of a gesture, too emotional. Still, the thought lingered.

 _Maybe not flowers but…_ Jim thought as he placed another book on the shelf. _Maybe he could get Spock to talk more about the books he liked on Monday. Maybe, Alice held the key._

Jim paused, balancing the box on his leg filled with books. He finished with the row he was working on, and then continued to the shelf below it. 

_Yes, suddenly Monday was getting curiouser and curiouser by the very moment._


	4. I wait around for Monday Morning (I wait around for You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Next ones gonna be muuuccchhh longer tho. Thanks for the patience. Sorry for the wait. School's been hell (and my health's one wreck after the other.) I'll def be updating more frequently now that summers here though! Super excited to get back into this story!!! The outline I have is quite long so we're def only at the beginning (as people have asked about completion/length before.) 
> 
> Also, a thanks to the lovely @Spocksplum for never asking me to update this on time. My anxiety thanks her from the bottom of it's nervous little heart.

 

Monday morning seemed to take _forever_ to arrive. 

Maybe it did. Jim felt as though he’d been trapped in some idol writers brain, a page half-closed, waiting. 

Procrastinator. _That’s_ what my author would be if I was fictional. Sunday night lasted felt like it lasted four months!

 But then again, who waits around for a Monday morning?

He kicked tiredly at the edge of his desk, over and over, fidgeting. 

_Spock’s not gonna come today. Why even get your hope’s up? And what if he does? It doesn’t matter. He probably won’t even remember me from…_

The scrape of a chair snapped his attention to the side. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a seat being pulled up next to him.

There sat Spock, in all his knit beanie and crisp navy blue jacket glory. 

“Is it alright if I sit-”  He began.

 _Of course._ Jim almost stuttered out. _You could murder me with  my own satchel and I’d feel blessed._

Jim gave him what he hoped was perceived as a politely subdued nod.

“How are you, I mean since yesterday- are you finding the campus okay so far?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim wondered if this meant good or bad or…

 “It was-" Spock paused, as if trying to find the right word. “Satisfactory.”

“No older kids trying to steal your lunch money or throw you in a trash can, then?” replied Jim with a chuckle. 

Spock didn’t laugh. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.

“Thankfully, no.”

For a moment, Jim stilled. 

_Oh. Who would ever dare hurt you?_

Spock was lithe and tall, with cheekbones cut from the edge of a meteor. When Jim was brave enough, he caught a glimpse of Spock’s eyes and oh- _those_ _eyes_ , deep enough to positively _melt_ someone’s mind. He couldn’t possibly imagine him being the target of anyone’s cruelty. Then again, as Chekov was more than happy to point out, he _was_ a bit biased. 

“How are your other classes? Y-you said you’re a science major, right?”

“They’re well enough. Though some of the chemistry courses aren’t as challenging as I hoped them to be. I’m fond of the biology lab though. It’s usually available for student research and I enjoy my independent studies.

And it’s the way he pauses on the word _fond_ that makes Jim’s breath catch.

“That’s wonderful. You’ll have to tell me more about them sometime.”

“If it’s not a bother to you-”

Jim waved his hands excitedly. 

“Not at all! My friends, well um, my friend and his friend, are both science majors and they babble on all the time like mad scientists. They're the best.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“And what do you ‘babble’ back to them about?”

Kirk grinned.

“ _Shakespeare_.”

 

Just as he was about to ask Spock what his independent studies entailed, the professor walked into the room. Or rather, Brian rolled in with a tweed jacket and aviators that Jim thought probably cost _way_ too much for his salary. 

Jim settled into his work, only bothering Spock when he thought there were some instructions here to there that perhaps he needed to know from the first day he’d missed. The professor went through the usual free writing warm up, then did some literary discussion and lecturing. All and all, it wasn’t too bad of a class (as usual) but Jim was well, he was _distracted_ from his books (which was unusual, to say the least, but not a mystery by any means)…

The bell rang sharp and steady. Jim let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

As the students packed up and hurried out, Spock made no such gesture. Instead, he neatly (almost fastidiously so) packed up his belongings. 

Jim swallowed.

_Now or never._

He turned towards Spock and gave a light tap to his shoulder. Spock looked startled for a moment, blinking. Then he turned towards Jim with a neutral expression on his face. 

“Would uh, would you like to hang out. This is my last class and um, if it’s yours too I thought we could discuss, from before, I mean-”

Spock waited, watching Jim trip agonizingly over his words.

For the briefest moment, Jim swore the lightest smirk etched itself into Spock’s face. 

_Is he laughing? Oh, the nerve!_

But soon he’d convinced himself it was only a trick of the afternoon sun. After all, as Chekov had said, this was _Spock_ , a very, _very_ serious student. 

 “Yes. I’d quite like that." Spock replied, a delicate smile gracing his face, before it slipped away again. This time there was no hint of a laugh in it though.

"Thank you, Jim.” He said, earnestly.

Jim stared. He though Spock's smile was like catching a glimpse of moonlight during the day; fragile and quiet, but beautiful enough to miss even in its most waning of phases.

Jim nodded enthusiastically. As they walked out of the classroom together and towards the grassy landscape of the campus, it took every ounce of his rapidly beating heart not to answer back _No really, it’s all my pleasure._


	5. A fairer house than prose, a fonder smile than friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of Emily Dickinson and Black and White Movies. This might cause some Very Gay Conversations.

There’s a way to forget this world. 

 

Jim knew this best.

 

Drifting, maladaptive daydreaming, disassociating (depending on how into psychology you were) were all just different names for the same thing; forgetting. In humanities quest to forget we’ve also built movie theaters, libraries, and concert halls. Jim’s way of forgetting was much faster. He sprawled under an oak tree on campus and sat with his eyes closed, elbows propped underneath him. 

 

Spock had followed him, but didn’t maintain such a relaxed pose. Instead, he opted for maintaining his good posture, folding his legs like a pretzel, holding his backpack in his lap. 

 

Jim thought it made him look extraordinarily cute. 

 

“So, I believe I was in for a more in-depth overview of your love of science, yes?” He said.

 

“Indeed, but only if you’re sure it won’t be a nuisance. If you’d rather spend your time reading or napping I-”

 

_He seemed nervous too. But why?_

 

Jim gave him a warm smile.

 

“I promise, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

Spock picked at a loose strand on his navy blue sweater, speaking quietly, but passionately.

 

“Science allows us to gleam the most important part of the natural world. Everything is a hypothesis. If we didn’t allow for questions we could never grow. At any given moment someone is unsure. And in the next moment, they become surer because they choose to analyze, to theorize, to study. We could explore galaxies…could make seeing the stars a reality if only we maintained discipline and curiosity in equal measures.”

 

Jim nodded appreciatively.

 

“Do you want to work for N.A.S.A?”

 

Spock shrugged.

 

“Perhaps…I would just be happy to do my research, wherever it takes me.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Spock bowed his head a little. Jim suspected it was to hide a smile.

 

“Yes. I’d love to study other planets. Plants and animals,  the chemistry and the biology-”

 

“‘the biology,’ hm?” Jim said, with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrow. 

 

Spock covered his mouth with his hand. 

 

Jim was tempted to move it away. 

 

 _Why do you hide your emotions?_ He wanted to ask. _What’re you afraid of?_

 

“I simply meant-”

 

Jim made no attempt to hide his laughter.

 

“Mhm, hm. Well, I think it’s…it’s all fine. I think N.A.S.A. would be lucky to have someone like you.”

 

“That’s…very kind of you to say.”

 

“My friend Pavol, uh, Chekov, he-he’s in class with you, says you’re one of the best.”

 

_And good God, wait till I tell him about today!_

 

“I take work too seriously. If anything, it’s the extra hours I put in that make the improvement.”

 

“You sell yourself short.”

 

“I don’t see it that way. Emotions in your work are…not always logical.”

 

“You say that so negatively. What about like, the crazy dedication Turing or Curie put into their research?” 

 

“I simply meant, we, as a species, can be so irascible, so volatile. It is, admittedly, endearing in _certain_ conditions…but also frightening.”

 

Jim looked at him thoughtfully. A dark shadow seemed to pass his face and Jim understood. He didn’t mean he was against the unbridled passion behind hard work, he was against the way such emotion could destroy it all. How it could destroy other things outside of work, Jim had guessed too.

 

“You’re right. Have you- I mean, a lot of Shakespeare deals with that.”

 

Spock looked up.

 

“Though I fear I may not be as well versed as you in his works, I do agree with your sentiment on this. Othello is a prime example for its motifs of jealously.”

 

“As is Macbeth for hubris and want of power.”

 

“Anthony and Cleopatra, love and power.”

 

“Hamlet…eh,  Hamlet’s tragedy isn’t for wanting anything other than freedom.”

 

Spock paused before answering. 

 

“Personally, I always thought he wanted Horatio.” He said in a quiet, steady tone.

 

Jim’s eyes snapped open.

 

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

 

“I mean, using queer theory one could extrapolate…” Spock trailed off as though he was going to start citing a textbook. 

 

_Oh yeah, that’s what they call it, technically. I just called it not being totally blind._

 

Jim laughed.

 

 

“Yes. I think you’ve a point there. it would also make Ophelia’s arc seem so misogynistic.”

 

“Agreed. And what do you see in Shakespeare that makes him your chosen ‘chemistry and biology’?”

 

For a second Jim thinks this is Spock’s attempt at innuendo and he smiles.

 

“It’s his dazzling penchant for pentameter. His sonnets dictate his plays. It doesn’t matter what he’s talking about. A scene where two characters sit around and do nothing is as grand as one where say a whole army is fighting in another.”

 

“Budget of the plays may have influenced that too.”

 

“But it doesn’t make him any less talented.”

 

“No. It does not. Are there any other authors you favor?”

 

Jim turned looking up at Spock, the sky silhouette behind him. 

 

The words came easier now.

 

“Sure, Emily Dickinson, Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen, Patricia Highsmith, Arthur Miller…”

 

He paused.

 

“I could go on but…”

 

“Emily Dickinson is...quite the woman, isn’t she?”

 

For a fragment of a second, Jim thought he detected jealousy in Spock's voice. 

 

“Wrote a lot about death and isolation but also…about love, about things unknown.”

 

“Really? I-like you said, always thought her so grim.”

 

“Oh no she’s, wow she’d be better friends with Douglas Adams than I’d thought. She was all into the cosmic and divine.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like…like when she says ‘I taste a liquor never brewed’ she says there’s nothing like what intoxicates her. It isn’t liquor or love or any kind of drug…it’s looking up at the sky, it’s tilting your head back and imagining. It’s dreaming about space or books. It’s forgetting. Our ability to imagine, to forget, is divine.”

 

He paused for a moment, trying to remember.

 

“She…let me see, she described it as _“Inebriate of air – am I – And Debauchee of Dew – Reeling – thro’ endless summer days – From inns of molten Blue –.”_

 

Spock gave him a small smile.

 

“You recite things quite well…”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“…but you don’t speak up in class?”

 

“Nah. It’s…I’d ramble on too much.”

 

_And I’d say something really, really gay and that would make me a moving target for the rest of the year._

 

“I sympathize. At my old college I almost gave a lecture when I simply meant to explain a theory on bioluminescence.”

 

“That sounds cool.”

 

Spock shot him a look.

 

“It only got me locked into an empty classroom for six hours after due to other classmates finding me…pretentious.”

 

“That’s their loss, Spock.”

 

Spock didn’t say anything for a moment, so Jim added onto his statement.

 

“I mean,  you know what you know. It’s… but you just tend to hyper fixate on certain things and then info dump and…people just take it the wrong way, yeah?”

 

“I suppose so. Though I doubt it was only attributed to that.”

 

Jim didn’t want to pry so instead the conversation dissolved back into favorite authors, books, old movies and new bands. 

 

Jim tried not to get caught glancing at Spock for too long, but every time Spock smiles his thoughts swirled into a mess of entropic bliss. Lightening strikes the synapses in his spine.  The afternoon sun melted him into used paperbacks and ink. 

 

_Is this what it’s just like…to have a crush on someone? To not feel like desire is a foreign object?_

 

Because the truth is, Iowa is far from being a gay friendly place, let alone with that many actual gay people.

 

 Iowa is like every small town across the country, making aliens out of children who have learned to fear the shape of their own heart before they could grow into it. 

 

_Spock seemed closed off, at first, but if you knew how to ask…he was actually quite talkative._

 

At one point, he’d been so excited about one of Isaac Newton’s theories he’d reached over and grabbed Jim’s hand, then quickly dropped it when he realized what he’d done. 

 

Jim thought he was going to have a mild heart attack from the sheer brush of his finger tips. He’d looked up and seen Spock, babbling and radiant above him, smiling. It was an image he’d carry with him for the rest of his life. 

 

 _A fairer house than prose, a fonder smile than friends_ Jim thought. _Yes, that’s what he is…that boy celestial._

 

The sunlight cast a glow over Spock’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the high arch of his eyebrows. His eyes were warm and dark and Jim considered, many times, tilting his head up just to see them closer. 

 

More than content in listening to Spock, trading comments back in forth, flitting between a chemist here, a playwright there, he didn’t dare to move closer. The afternoon fell into the steady step of evening and neither had paid any mind to the time, to anything outside the movements of their conversation. 

In between their words sunlight blossomed in the brackets of poetry and equations, falling leaves and scattered petals from the trees above their heads fell and Jim squinted, eyes half-closed, he was no longer in Iowa. 

 

From the now relaxed posture Spock procured (though he still sat criss crossed) and the frequent curl of his lips upwards, it seemed he wasn’t seeing Iowa either. 

 

_I give you my hours. You give me another world. I give you my words. You give me the stars._

 

There was a fluttery feeling in Jim’s chest and it had nothing to do with his family history of hypertension. 

 

Jim asked him another question.

 

“Do you like Douglas Adams too, by the way? I mean, since you’re Mr. Science and all.”

 

Spock shook his head quickly. 

 

“Far too much. I titled my end of the semester essay in my previous college ‘the bacteria at the end of the universe’ and tried to write it in his tone of voice. It went on for over sixty pages and the professor only asked for twenty, but it was an absolute joy to research.”

 

“Really? that’s…”

 

Jim searches for any other words besides _You’re adorable_ to say aloud.

 

“…I’d love to read it.”

 

“You…would?”

 

Jim nodded eagerly.

 

“I can-”

 

Jim looked at the shadows hanging dark blue over Spock. Suddenly, he checked his watch. 

 

_Time? Never heard of her. Well, shit, I gotta go!_

 

“Do you have a copy or you can email it to me? I have work in a half hour, but…”

 

“I’ll bring it with me when I see you next.”

 

_Next? Again? Oh my god, he writes about glowing science and is a fanboy for Douglas Adams. I’ve officially died and went to Mars._

 

“Well…would you like to hang out later? After work, I can-”

 

Spock smiled a bit wider, shaking his head in agreement.

 

Jim was the one to hide his smile this time, trying to conceal his blush. He tried to think of the schedule he had for the rest of the night.

 

_Work. Then…yeah just work. Which ends around 10ish tonight…okay, 10:15 but Chekov will lock up for me…_

 

“Would around… ten be okay? I know that’s late but I get off then and…”

 

_And then I’m yours for the rest of the night, but lest we say that out loud and not sound crazy, Jim._

 

“I’m quite adept to being out late. My sister and brother…they…before they each left on their respective career paths, made sure I’d be well versed, in, how you say “sneaking out after dark?”

 

Jim thought for a moment. 

 

“Alright. I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

 

_I can ride up on my bike and sweep him off his feet! Even though he looks a hell of a lot sturdier than me…we’ll do that whole My Own Private Idaho montage. Or Roman Holiday._

 

_Ugh, just look at him, he’s even dreamer than Cary Grant and Keanu Reeves combined._

 

Spock didn’t frown, but his lips settled into a thin line.

 

“I…best not. Where can I meet you?”

 

“The bookstore from last night if that’s good. And then…I know a place from there. Yeah?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Jim, stretched, threw his satchel over his shoulder, and began to walk towards his bike. 

 

“See you later.” He said with a small wave. 

 

Goodbye Jim.”

 

Spock gathered his things and walked in the opposite direction, towards the other side of campus. 

 

As he’d started walking, Jim realized they’d spent almost the whole afternoon together, talking about almost nothing at all. 

 

He smiled to himself, wide as the tail of a comet, feeling foolish and wonderful. 

 

Jim had never been happier. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter six will be here...soonish. 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading!!!!!!!!
> 
> Remember, I thrive off of comments and kudos like a sad lil' beta fish in a prose-filled tank :D


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